Introduction
The epic poem Beowulf tells the life story of the Geatish (=a Scandinavian tribe) warrior Beowulf and many of his heroic deeds.
It takes place in Denmark, where the famous king Hrothgar had built a grand hall made of gold. The hall was named Heorot and there king Hrothgar held many feasts and invited all his noblemen and warriors. However, closeby a monster called Grendel lived in the swamps, and he was jealous of Hrothgar and his merry feasts and set out to destroy Hrothgar's happiness. At night, Grendel would invade the hall and kill many men, until nobody dared come to Hrothgar's hall anymore.
Hrothgar asked many warriors to rid him of the monster Grendel, but none succeeded and so Heorot was haunted for years by Grendel.
One day, the young hero Beowulf arrives, and pledges to get rid of Grendel. He and his warriors are received gladly and a great feast ensues. They go to sleep in Heorot that night, but Beowulf keeps guard and waits for Grendel to arrive...
Literary Fragment (translated from the Old English by Seamus Heaney)
In off the moors, down through the mist-bands
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.
The bane of the race of men roamed forth,
Hunting for a prey in the high hall.
Under the cloud-murk he moved towards it
Until it shone above him, a sheer keep
Of fortified gold. Nor was that the first time
He had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar’s dwelling---
Although never in his life, before or since,
Did he find harder fortune or hall-defenders.
Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on ahead
And arrived at the barn. The iron-braced door
Turned in its hinge when his hand touched it.
Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open
The mouth of the building, maddening for blood,
Pacing the length of the patterned floor
With his loathsome tread, while a baleful light,
Flame more than light, flared from his eyes.
He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping,
A ranked company of kinsmen and warriors
Quartered together. And his glee was demonic,
Picturing the mayhem: before morning
He would rip life from limb and devour them,
Feed on their flesh: but his fate that night
Was due to change, his days of ravening
Had come to an end. ...
[... Grendel kills a sleeping warrior and then turns to Beowulf, and a great battle ensues ...]
... The story goes
That as the pair struggled, mead benches were smashed
And sprung off the floor, gold fittings and all.
Before then, no Shielding elder would believe
There was any power or person on earth
Capable of wrecking their horn-rigged hall
Unless the burning embrace of fire
Engulf it in flame. Then an extraordinary
Wail arose, and bewildering fear
Came over the Danes. Everyone felt it
Who heard that cry as it echoed off the wall,
A God-cursed scream and strain of catastrophe,
The howl of the loser, the lament of the hell-serf
Keening his wound. He was overwhelmed,
Manacled tight by the man who of all men
Was foremost and strongest in the days of this life.
[... the fight continues and nobody can come to Beowulf's aid ...]
... As long as either lived
He was hateful to the other. The monster’s whole
Body was in pain, a tremendous wound
Appeared on his shoulder. Sinews split
And the bone-lappings burst. Beowulf was granted
The glory of winning; Grendel was driven
Under the fen banks, fatally hurt,
To his desolate lair. His days were numbered,
The end of his life was coming over him,
He knew it for certain; and one bloody clash
Had fulfilled the dearest wishes of the Danes.
The man who had lately landed among them,
Proud and sure, had purged the hall,
Kept it from harm; he was happy with his night-work
And the courage he had shown. The Geat captain
Had boldly fulfilled his boast to the Danes:
He had healed and relieved a huge distress,
Unremitting humiliations,
The hard fate they’d been forced to undergo,
No small affliction. Clear proof of this
Could be seen in the hand the hero displayed
High up near the roof: the whole of Grendel’s
Shoulder and arm, his awesome grasp.